


The Vampire’s Tale

by plague of insomnia (chiealeman), Skye_Fyre



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: Adult Ciel Phantomhive, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Priests, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Asthma, Asthmatic Ciel, Blood Drinking, Blood Play, Cat Sebastian, Don’t copy to another site, Dubious Consent, Enemies to Lovers Except They Stay Enemies, Hate Sex, Historically Inaccurate Language, M/M, Priest Ciel, Rating May Change, Shapeshifting, Tags May Change, Vampire Sebastian, historical events
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-07-23 10:13:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20006620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiealeman/pseuds/plague%20of%20insomnia, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skye_Fyre/pseuds/Skye_Fyre
Summary: Perhaps it was Lady Luck’s fickle hand, or just a cruel twist of fate that caused their paths to cross: Ciel, a novice priest with a thirst for revenge for his family’s murderer and Sebastian, a millenia-old vampire with a thirst of a different kind,  a disturbing hobby and a penchant for playing with his prey.Soon, they interlock in a battle for supremacy, increasingly bound together despite the burning hatred and resentment below the surface. Yet, try as they might, they cannot escape: Ciel, ensnared by the vampire’s beguiling aura and whispered promises to fulfill his revenge, and the other in an eternal search for the perfect meal.





	The Vampire’s Tale

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was originally conceived as part of the “Demonic SebaCiel” event hosted on tumblr but evolved into a multi chapter story.
> 
> The title was inspired by Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, which is approximately from the same period as this story is set. You’ll also find this Tale to be a bit farcical, with the two main characters’ canon personalities exaggerated, although Father Ciel takes offense at the fact that the title implies it’s solely Lord Michaelis’s story, when in fact the reader requires his point of view in order to appreciate what an ordeal dealing with said vampire is.
> 
> We hope you enjoy! It is both of our first time collaborating in such a way, but we’ve been having quite a lot of fun and hope you will enjoy this tale as much as we have in preparing it for you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This piece was original conceived as part of the “Demonic SebaCiel” event hosted on tumblr but evolved into a multi chapter story.
> 
> The title was inspired by Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales, which is approximately from the same period as this story is set. You’ll also find this Tale to be a bit farcical, with the two main characters’ canon personalities exaggerated, although Father Ciel takes offense at the fact that the title implies it’s solely Lord Michaelis’s story, when in fact the reader requires his point of view in order to appreciate what an ordeal dealing with said vampire is.
> 
> We hope you enjoy! It is both of our first time collaborating in such a way, but we’ve been having quite a lot of fun and hope you will enjoy this tale as much as we have in preparing it for you.

If evil truly existed on Earth, the house at the top of the hill was surely a symbol of the Devil himself. The gardens were overgrown, a tangle of vines and dead flora, and not a single bird or animal could be heard as the two novice priests walked up the drive toward the mansion. Skeletal trees flanked the path, barren boughs reaching despairingly heavenward. Even malice whispered in the breeze—it was no wonder that all sane creatures had forsaken this place.

Their footsteps echoed ominously along the untrodden dirt path, the only trace in the disconcerting absence of sound. Ciel had never been a believer in ill omens, but this house forced him to reconsider those beliefs. At its threshold stood a weathered statue of Lucifer himself, the wickedly sharp claws grasping around a pitchfork like some vicious avenger. The house that loomed ahead offered no comfort either, the spires standing forbiddingly. It oozed malevolence, dark and viscous, tainting the clear skies with its miasma. 

Ciel could see Finny shiver despite the warmth of the summer heat, and his fingers reaching out for the rosary looped to his cassock. It was not difficult for Ciel to surmise that Finny was equally, if not more perturbed by their unkind surroundings. For once he could sympathise with the other priest—a rare occurrence since Ciel despised his companion’s tendency of wearing his heart on a sleeve

Finny then turned towards him, speaking slowly like he was trying to convince himself nothing was wrong. "You have the incense thurible and the salt, right?"

“I wouldn’t dare to forget,” Ciel scoffed, putting on a false show of bravado for the benefit of his companion. They were here to cleanse the house—albeit with some reluctance on Ciel’s part—and he had to make sure Finny would not chicken out. He had no intention of listening to yet another protracted lecture by Druitt; despite his rather impressive skills at tuning out the other party he did have his limits. “Shall we go and check if anyone lives there?” 

Finny’s expression of bewilderment and betrayal at those words spoke volumes about his thoughts on that matter. Ramrod straight, thrumming with tension—like prey ready to run. However, Ciel knew that Finny’s pledge of loyalty would likely exceed his evident fear of their surroundings, that blind faith in the Lord something Ciel could barely fathom. 

True enough, Ciel did not find himself disappointed. Finny squared his shoulders and strode nearer the house, taking the three stone steps with borrowed confidence, rather like a lamb being led to slaughter. Right in front of them stood immense wooden doors, flanked by gargantuan stone goblins, their gnarled faces twisted into a savage snarl. They crouched menacingly, perhaps waiting for the unlucky souls to cross their paths to snare them in their cruel grasp, and Ciel shuddered. _I really hope this will be quick._

Seemingly assured by the Lord’s Prayer that he murmured under his breath, Finny extended his hand and rapped on the door; the action earning a side eye from Ciel. The unnatural silence was shattered by the sound; the noise seemed to echo and grow louder with each succeeding knock. 

A pause. The longer it stretched, the more Ciel was convinced that no one resided here (much to both their relief) but alas, his hopes were in vain. The muted tip-tapping of shoes rapidly grew louder as they neared the door before coming to a halt with some unintelligible muttering. It was the only warning they received before the door swung open with an ill-oiled groan, leaving both of them to stare dumbly as they took in the sight of its occupant. 

The man towered over both of them, much like the giants in the tales Ciel used to secrete away in a corner and read as the candlelight waned. Clothed in a swathe of orange silk, the embroidery dusted gold in the warm sunlight, it suggested a nobleman of high repute to afford such fine robes. A midnight blue cape was draped over his shoulders and swirled around him in the wind that had picked up, intimidating in the way it shielded him from them. Eyes travelling down, he noticed even the pointed shoes were far more intricate than the dull utilitarian ones that they wore, completing the sight of regal splendour and airs.

However, the most unsettling of all the noble’s features were those dark red eyes, like the colour of dried blood, staring at them intensely. Darkness lurked in their depths, a void that sucked all the warmth out of the air. They pierced right through both of them like they were all-knowing, causing them to shudder together as goosebumps rose on his skin.

"Good morn, esteemed sire." Ciel wetted his dry lips with his tongue. "We are but humble priests that have been dispatched to cleanse this house, as it has come under the attention of the Church. Would it be acceptable for us to do so, with your kind permission?"

The grin that crossed the noble’s face was somehow both inviting and menacing. “Good morrow,” he said pleasantly enough. “I realize how improper it is for a lord to answer his own door, but I’m afraid it’s been impossible to maintain servants. Perhaps the assistance of you fine young men of the cloth will help dispel the rumours that my humble abode is the dwelling place of foul spirits and ghouls.”

Even with the lord’s placating words, Ciel’s suspicions had been aroused by the lack of servants within the dwelling, for it was highly unusual for someone of such social standing to not have any. Perhaps the lord’s menacing aura had something to do with it, but still, the allure of money should have been able to overcome any reservations people might have had. Stranger and stranger. His gut was screaming about the _wrongness_ of this place, but the lord’s affable invitation would have been impossible to refuse without inciting his wrath—and Ciel knew all too well what short tempers and excessive riches could buy for any dissenter. As such, even with Finny’s clear disagreement at the prospect, he replied with a weak smile, “Indeed, my lord. Humble priests like us would be glad to do as your esteemed self suggests, if you would be so kind as to allow us to enter...?”

Michaelis smiled ferally, allowing his fangs to grow just enough to unsettle the priests. The collar he had been shackled with to minimize his use of his abilities only affected major shapeshifting, something as minor as the subtle length of his canines simple enough to pull off undisturbed. “Please, fathers, right this way. I was just sitting down to sup with some good friends of mine. Perhaps you two would care to join us in a glass? It's been far too long since I've had company.” His grin expanded as he led the men in, through the vestibule and toward the main dining hall, lit primarily by a large hearth in one wall. An enormous oak table dominated the space, with seating for at least twenty. Near one end, it was set for three, as he had quickly added two more place settings as soon as his preternatural senses had picked up the two priests strolling up the drive.

As if serving as a centrepiece, a miniature replica of the full-sized table and chairs sat on its surface, complete with an equally proportioned ornamental rug. Unlike the more barren life-sized furniture, this one was fully adorned and occupied, each chair filled with a different occupant slightly larger than a man’s hand.

Had that been Ciel's imagination, or had the lord _bared_ his teeth at them? Rapid blinking did not dissipate the sight, as for once it was not his rampant imagination going wild but the truth. Overlong canines poked out of the lord’s thin lips, and perturbing to the utmost. It only served to add to his already extensive mental list titled: _100 Reasons Why This Is A Very Bad Idea_ , yet he still meekly followed the lord into the dwelling with Finny cautiously trailing behind. _Coward,_ he whispered under his breath.

The overbearing scent of rose perfume was the first thing he noticed, smothering the air and clawing its way down his nostrils as he inhaled. Already he could feel it creeping into his lungs like insidious poison, the beginnings of a wheeze starting as they protested at the foreign intrusion. He prayed that they could leave quickly for the sake of his fragile health, for he knew that his weak lungs could not stand up to the beating for long.

And then Ciel stopped. Seated upon a tiny table on top of another larger one were… clay dolls? They clearly had been treated with loving care, their faces painstakingly painted with brightly-coloured intricate designs, and all were resplendent with various attires of times long past which he had read about only in books. But it was the surreality of the sight that arrested him: dolls set with tiny plates, cutlery and glasses of wine. _Is the lord having a_ meal _with them? What the fuck…_ Even more disconcerting were the three sets of life-sized cutlery at the head of the table, like the lord had _anticipated_ their arrival. Gibberish only looped through his brain, his mind seeming to have malfunctioned at such absurdity. His eyes flickered to the lord, reassessing whether a more suitable course of action would be having the man clapped in irons instead of cleansing this house. "A glass?" he asked faintly, feeling like he needed to hold onto one of the chairs himself to brace himself upright.

Ciel glanced over at Finny, praying that in a show of solidarity the other was disturbed by the sight as he was. Alas, he had been betrayed by the person who proclaimed to be his only friend. Finny appeared to have forgotten his earlier apprehensions in his intrigue with the dolls, stepping forward to examine them. "Are they the good friends you spoke of earlier, sire? How wonderful!"

Michaelis’s pleasure showed on his face. At least one of his new guests could appreciate fine craftsmanship. “They are indeed! Please, join me,” he said, directing each of the priests to their respective seats on either side of his own, and with a flourish of his cape, he sat. Bringing the glass to his nose, he inhaled, the aroma pleasantly thick and heady with youth and fear, making his mouth water. Although this was the very last of that delicious blond farmer, he did not begrudge sharing with company, including his two young clerics, at least one of whom might make for a very fine future meal. “If one of my friends in particular is to your liking, I would be happy to make introductions, Father.”

"Oh yes please, sire! I would be delighted to make the acquaintance of your lovely friends! Might you be so kind as to introduce me to this fine gentleman?" Much to Ciel's horror and disbelief, Finny seemed delighted to pander to the delusional beliefs of this noble, actually holding one doll's hand in his own in greeting. Ciel thought that his head might explode from the sheer insanity of the situation, and half-wondered if a sweet too many last night was the cause. Vowing to never be so gluttonous again (could anyone blame him for his sweet tooth?), he fell silent, his gaze flickering back and forth.

“Oh it’s so fortunate that you chose Thomas, Father—oh how terribly rude of me. We seemed to have skipped right past introductions! How may I address you and your lovely sullen companion?” 

_Sullen companion?_ Ciel was ready to snap back in righteous indignation, but a well-timed nudge from Finny stopped him. Antagonising this perplexing noble certainly would not have been a wise course of action, as much as he might have been tempted to, and he subsided with a grumble. 

Flashing the lord a blinding grin, Finny replied cheerily, "Forgive us for being so remiss as well; we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot! I am Father Finny, and my companion here is Father Ciel. Likewise, how might we address you, esteemed sire?"

“Lord Michaelis shall suffice,” the tall man said with a tone and posture suitable to signify his grand importance. It was a pseudonym, but mere humans, even if their underdeveloped throats could manage to correctly pronounce his vampiric name, certainly would do nothing but a disservice to such an awe-inspiring appellation such as his. So the one he’d adopted for use among humans would do. While the blond priest was certainly more . . . malleable, the other, Father Ciel, intrigued him. He seemed particularly disagreeable for a man of the cloth. Intriguing, and perhaps challenging. How delightful. Michaelis flashed another fangy smile, and waved his hand toward Thomas. “Please meet Thomas, Father Finny. He’s a local farmer, and quite the chatterbox once you get him started. Don’t let his humble looks fool you!” He chuckled. He was relieved that Father Finny didn’t seem to notice the work-in-progress Thomas was. Normally, he spent decades on a new companion, carefully moulding and shaping the clay, stitching and stuffing their torsos, assembling them, sewing their garments, painting their skin. But it had been far too tempting to have Thomas join in sampling his brother, so he’d managed an adequate job in only a few months. That mouthwatering taste lay just in front of them, its scent tempting him to wait no longer. “Let us toast,” he said, raising his glass, the deep red liquid sloshing as he lifted it. “May this meeting prove—” he hesitated. He understood in momentous situations such as this, when life was suddenly about to shift in a new and exciting direction, using the proper and exact words was absolutely essential. He smiled his toothy grin once more, making eye contact with the morose priest whose one bright blue eye studied him with intense caution. “May our new friendship prove beneficial to us all.”

"Indeed, Lord Michaelis! To our new friendship!" Finny agreed brightly, setting the doll's hand down to pick up a filled glass gingerly. With Finny's unfortunate propensity for breaking fragile items, Ciel thought it a wise decision as he eyed the other glasses on the table with great apprehension while avoiding the lord's attempt to make eye contact with him. 

The dark red wine that it held within emanated a rather odd metallic smell. Clinging to his tongue with its strange scent, it made for an ill-conceived mixture with the heavy aroma of roses that pervaded every pore of the house, and Ciel was sorely tempted to throw up if it would not have risked offending their eccentric host. His lungs were also now aching in protest at the suffocating scent, the familiar tightness in his chest something he prayed he could repress until they were back in the safety of their dormitory. It wouldn't do for him to start gasping in the lord's presence; he would rather die than show weakness to some stranger.

Ciel could hardly understand how Finny did not think all of this exceedingly bizarre, from the lack of servants to the lord's… _predilections_ . Rethinking the prudence of having Finny as a "friend" yet again (the last time he counted, it was at eight thousand and two times), Ciel cautiously picked up a glass to cradle it within his palms and nearly dropped it from sheer shock. It was _warm_ . _What the fuck?_ his gibbering mind supplied helpfully as he regretted once more his decision to not turn tail and run while he still could have.

"Indeed, Lord Michaelis," Ciel muttered after a lengthy pause, but choosing not to sip at the wine. He was going to exercise caution in this situation if Finny wasn't, and if Finny became collateral damage, that was unfortunate.

Michaelis downed his glass, not so quickly so that he couldn’t enjoy the flavour, of course. He had never understood his fellows who guzzled their meals like starving animals. And Thomas’s twin was certainly something to be savoured. A shame this was the last of it. Humans were such fragile creatures. He would need to find someone new to dine from soon. As he thought this, licking the last drops from his lips and sighing in satisfaction—fear certainly did add such a wonderful aftertaste—he noticed the darker-haired priest hadn’t yet sampled his serving. Frowning, he said, “Do you wish to offend me, Father Ciel?”

"A lowly priest like me offend you, Lord Michaelis? I wouldn't dream of it, sire. I was merely speculating upon the origins of this fine glass of wine before I sup it, to fully appreciate its full-bodied flavour," Ciel lied easily, enthusing about the glass that he held. The lord seemed like a person who had a rather ardent passion for things, and successfully baiting the lord would offer Ciel a safe opportunity to dispose of the wine without offending him. 

Finny appeared to disagree with his choices however, a rare scowl upon his cherubic face. "Ciel! Lord Michaelis has so generously offered us the chance to taste of this rare wine,- how could you refuse?" Turning to the lord, Finny bowed to him contritely. "My sincere apologies for my friend's actions, my lord, I rather enjoyed it myself! What a delightful flavour it has indeed!" 

“That it does, Father Finny. I take great pains when selecting and sourcing anything I deign to put in my mouth,” Michaelis said, although again his eyes lingered on the other priest. “I would offer you more, but alas, you find me at the bottom of the barrel, so to speak. Of course, it’s possible that your fellow here would prefer to waste such a fine beverage rather than even bothering to sample the delights contained within his cup. ‘Tis no matter, I suppose. We can’t all be gourmands of the highest order.”

"What a dreadful pity that Ciel is wasting your offering made out of the goodness of your heart, sire, you are most magnanimous for forgiving him. I myself would be delighted to sup upon more of the exotic wines should you be kind enough to offer more," Finny gushed, breathing in to continue if not for Ciel interrupting him from his adamance in convincing the lord that the sun shone from his behind.

Ciel's ire spiked at the lord's not-so-subtle disparaging of his tastes, his lips turning down in a scowl even as he spoke. "Of course, Finny, I would _dearly_ love to do so as well. Let us not forget our duty to our Lord however; we should cleanse this house of the dark miasma that still lingers. Perhaps you would be so helpful as to point to us specific areas where the lord noticed the presence of evil beings, so that we can continue our righteous work?" 

“True, after all, that is why you two decided to grace me with your presence,” Michaelis said, humming a bit at his own cleverness. After all, was “grace” not something the humans spoke of so often in relation to their god? It was delightfully tempting to direct them to the dungeons below the mansion, perhaps to introduce the enthusiastic Father Finny to the source of the meal the man had so wisely praised, but he was in enough trouble with the ridiculous vampiric guidelines about not drawing attention. Furthermore, he knew if two of their beloved clerics disappeared while on a quest to purge evil, it would only be a matter of time before the bonfires and pitchforks and angry mobs appeared at his door. Not as if he were afraid of a few dozen paltry humans. Even with his powers restrained by the collar, they were no threat to a being such as himself. But he rather liked this abode: food was easy to obtain, delicious and plentiful despite the plague ravaging the known world, and he would truly be upset if his companions were to come to any harm. Someone like Thomas, still in his infancy, perhaps he could stand to part with, but many had been his steadfast fellows for millennia, carefully repaired, maintained, and restored when necessary, and losing them would be akin to being staked. “Right this way,” he said, rising, guiding them up the main staircase toward the set of large connecting rooms that served as his workshop, home to his companions, and space where they could enjoy each other’s company in a variety of artfully constructed scenes. 

The hallways threw long shadows in the dim lighting, which Ciel thought strange as a noble as rich as he seemed should not have been short on candles. Carefully navigating to avoid tripping in the semi-darkness, he shot Finny a mild glare. Even with the impending cleaning ritual, which should have tempered Finny's exuberance somewhat, he still walked with a bounce to his feet and starry eyes as they followed the lord's lead. He had to resist the urge to massage his forehead in exasperation, a fairly common reaction of his to Finny's presence. The faster they could get through this, the quicker he could escape from this insanity and attempt to forget everything that had happened. With that hope in mind, he stepped into the room where the lord had stopped—and was promptly arrested by the sight before him.

Nothing failed to mask the utter ludicrosity of it all. Ciel had thought the dolls on the lower floor ridiculous, but now he would have to reevaluate that statement as this exceeded even the wildest of his imagination. Dolls laid in diverse states of repair on the tables, some clothed, some naked as the day they were born. The sound of murky water sloshing faintly was also audible in the wooden buckets underneath the tables, even though the stillness of the room should not have caused any movement. Jars of coloured powders also lined the shelves, some of them uncapped, the pigments dusting the drab wood on which they lay. Brushes stained with various shades accompanied the jars, the bristles sticking together as they dried. But the most unnerving of all these sights were the hollow eyes that stared back at him unblinkingly, the juxtaposition of lifelessness on something so realistic disturbing. In fact, disturbing didn't even remotely scratch the surface, and he wondered once more if it was still not too late to have the lord clapped in irons.

“This is my workshop,” Michaelis announced proudly with fanfare. “My companions require regular maintenance to keep in top condition, and of course every now and then, I have someone new to add to our assembly.” He strode over to the table where he’d begun painting Thomas’s twin. “I’ve only completed the preliminary coat on this one, I’m afraid. Mixing the pigments is a delicate process, you see.” He directed their attention to the far left of the room where a long table was covered in the tools he used to manipulate the clay. “Over there is where I fashion and shape the clay to be fired below stars, while this is my station where the complex, yet necessary process of mimicking human complexions is carried out, as well as affixing the hair.” He lifted a jar with a lock of Thomas’s hair in it. He still hadn’t decided if he should utilize this for the twin as well, or save it and ensure optimum authenticity. A decision to be made for another day. “That table in the corner is for my woodworking. In the past I had the furniture produced by a professional, but now I have quite enough experience to manufacture the pieces myself, and I quite enjoy it, I find. Likewise for that station to your right, sirrahs. I produce almost all my companions’ clothing personally, with only the best materials, of course. I also assemble and stuff their bodies; with cloth I am able to make them poseable.” That table was loaded with baskets of small bolts of fabric, thread in every colour possible, pins, needles, and even two tiny seamstress dummies made of wood and wire on which he could more easily fashion complex pieces without risking damage or insult to any of his companions. “I would honestly hate for any malevolence to wreak havoc in here, so I will leave you to it, and we shall proceed to the next room when you are satisfied.”

"Certainly, Lord Michaelis! My friend and I would be glad to rid this room of the evil presence, as is our sworn duty to the wonderful Lord whom we serve. It would make this room a more suitable place to outfit your splendid companions as well, wouldn't the lord agree?" Finny said brightly, walking over to a distracted Ciel to collect the necessary implements. He was content to take a more passive approach in the ritual, standing off to the side as Finny started chanting, " _Kyrie, eléison. Christe, eléison_..." with hands clasped together, knowing that Finny would be more than happy to take the lead.

Ciel always found it fascinating how someone like Finny, usually so energetic, could become the modicum of stillness while kneeling on the ground in prayer. He was certainly more devout than Ciel could ever be, for his faith shaped every decision he made. Following Finny's actions, he mumbled along to the oft-repeated words, trying but failing miserably to suppress the string of coughs that fought their way past his much abused throat. Sweat, cold and clammy, beaded on his skin not of his own accord. The oppressive scent of roses in the air was not doing him any favours, and he was certain that once Finny started burning the incense it would not improve his ailing condition any.

A confident "Amen!" from Finny ended the prayer, and he started sprinkling holy water encased within a delicate crystal bottle, the droplets glinting as they gracefully arced through the air. Finny then spread the salt around the glistening trails on the floor with a broad wave of his arm, with a fierce proclamation that startled Ciel into yet another volley of coughs, "Evil fiend, we expel ye by the power of Christ: begone! No more shall this be your dwelling! There is no place here for thee but the depths of hell, where ye belong!"

Michaelis observed the scene from the doorway that connected his workshop to the converted library where he kept his companions and their accoutrements. He had always found human religion incredibly pointless and yet entertaining. However, his attention was rapidly drawn from the ritual to the dour priest kneeling beside the enthusiastic blond one.

Likely inaudible to humans, the vampire’s attuned hearing had picked out a wheezy rumble in Father Ciel’s chest that had begun almost as soon as he entered the mansion and now had developed into an outright fit. Perhaps because of his struggle to breathe, the young man had also broken out into a delightfully delicious nervous sweat that permeated the air above the rose perfume that scented the mansion, or any of the odoriferous supplies the clerics were using for their ritual.

Almost outside his control, his fangs descended and his mouth watered, his full belly notwithstanding, and suddenly he needed to be closer so that the power of the aura he emanated would have an intoxicatingly persuasive effect on his prey.

“Father Ciel, I see you are taken with a fit of difficult breathing. Perhaps the malevolence of this room is unsettling your humours. If you would approach me, I am much travelled and learned and I could easily help to rebalance them with just a small bloodletting.” 

Ciel could not help but shoot an incensed glare at the lord—he couldn't stand the smirk plastered on that face the slightest, fueling his vexation. Finny's motherly instincts would doubtlessly be set into overdrive by the lord's comment, and Ciel absolutely detested the sympathetic looks that Finny granted him in such fits—his pity was not appreciated in the least—which was the main reason why he had been trying to choke down those harsh coughs that rattled his frail body. He tore his gaze away from the lord with a final glower; he hoped that Finny had been too occupied with the ritual to pay much notice. 

Unfortunately, Ciel was disappointed yet again. Finny's brows knitted down in a frown at his friend's struggle to breathe being brought to his attention, casting Ciel a fretful look. However, Ciel knew that they could not stop the ritual now or their efforts would be in vain, and that was the saving grace that he clung to. After much contemplation, Finny jerked his head towards the lord and hastily interrupted the chants to plead, "You should accept Lord Michaelis' offer, Ciel. Someone so educated as the lord would be able to rebalance your humours and treat your frequent fits. Please, Ciel?"

"Fine," Ciel wheezed, rubbing his burning chest in circles as he got to his feet shakily. He was loathe to concede to Finny's request (he had never liked his emotions being used against him), but the sooner they got out of here, the better for his well being. While he had never been a fan of bloodletting himself, deeming it an unnecessarily painful practice, he was willing to make that tradeoff for a quicker escape. A shiver ran down his spine as he approached the lord, who seemed to emanate a rather intimidating aura that triggered all the fight-or-flight instincts within him even as he asked, "You... were saying, Lord Michaelis?" 

Just barely keeping his fangs in check, Michaelis smiled, offering the priest his hand, who accepted after some reluctance. He lifted it as if to kiss it the way human male nobles did when greeting a noble lady, but instead he delicately rotated the young man’s arm and slid the sleeve up to expose a pale wrist. Father Ciel was undoubtedly of a sickly constitution, frail and with skin so translucent his beautiful veins blossomed in visible webs of blue and purple. Michaelis’s tongue swiped over his lips hungrily as he let his aura expand, filling the air around them, quickly overwhelming the helpless human until the young man’s tension ebbed and he relaxed into the vampire’s touch.

Wrapping an arm around the priest to support him, Michaelis lifted the thin wrist higher, his eyes beginning to glow red as his fangs descended completely. If the boy had not been totally trapped between his struggle for breath and the vampire’s aural snare, he might have expressed fear at the mouthful of sharp teeth that smiled down at him. “My, but you smell even better than I thought,” he whispered, bringing his nose to the pulse point in Father Ciel’s arm, right where it joined his hand. “Like parchment and ink, honey and petrichor.”

Tangentially, Ciel was aware of the inexplicable haze settling over his mind, a cloud that he could not shake off no matter how hard he tried. Fragile strands of reason slipping out of his clammy hands, he could barely recount how he had gotten into this situation, with the lord smiling at him with far too much intent—like that of a coiled snake about to strike. He huffed out a wheezy chuckle, his body completely limp as his dazed eyes followed the lord's actions haltingly. "I... smell good? Really?" 

“Oh, absolutely delicious.” With hardly a glance toward the other priest to confirm the blond was still fervently beseeching his god for aid or whatever it was he was chanting—the vampire could care less—he bit down, feeling the hot, coppery rush of fresh, from-the-tap blood flow over his tongue. The priest tasted even better than he’d expected, like youth and innocence—no, Ciel was not nearly as untainted as his compatriot, and that added a delightful tang to the otherwise sweet flavour pureness lent. A tiny dash of heady fear, lust buoyed by the aura’s effect, and far more layers of subtle flavour this small sample didn’t give time to parse out. After only a few swallows, Michaelis pulled away reluctantly, swiping his tongue over the wound to collect the last drops as well as to heal the wound. Already the priest was breathing with less effort, the wheeze gone due to the curative effect of the vampire’s saliva, and he smirked as he smacked his lips. By far the tastiest morsel he’d had in centuries. He was suddenly glad he’d spent so much time over the years terrorizing the local population with his shapeshifting or his house might never have taken on the reputation of a domain of evil that had brought these fine snacks to his door.

Once he was certain Father Ciel wouldn’t collapse, Michaelis regretfully released the priest and turned down his aura as he backed away. His ability to influence desire was extremely powerful, and while not limited by the collar, it only operated properly within close proximity. For full efficacy, his saliva had to enter the human’s circulatory system. Once he stopped feeding and with enough distance, since the effect was short-lived, his prey would regain its senses, minus some confusion for the period in which it had been bespelled.

 _What just happened?_ Ciel wondered woozily as the room spun dangerously around him. The last he could remember, the lord had offered to perform some bloodletting upon him to treat the tightness that seized his chest like a cruel vice, but the memories after blurred into a fog that still dogged at his aching mind. Oddly enough, there seemed to be no trace of any bloodletting conducted, the pale skin on his arms still unmarred. The noble was several feet away from Ciel, the annoyingly smug smirk still firmly on his face as he eyed him with interest. Frowning as he racked his brains for the fuzzy memories dancing just out of his reach, he sat upon a (thankfully doll-free) chair in the hopes that the dizziness would soon abate. 

Ciel's lone eye landed upon Finny's bowed figure, the priest in question lighting the incense with holy fire, the incendiary sparks that set it ablaze courtesy of blessed silver that they carried on their persons. Citrusy smoke, heavy with notes of dust eddied in grey wisps, with a tinge of pungence that his mind automatically identified as myrrh. Tendrils swirled up his nose as he inhaled, and he braced himself for the fit of coughing that would no doubt ensue—but it never came. The malaise that assaulted his lungs like clockwork was curiously absent, in its place a general sense of well being that was a rarity in its own right. He breathed easier than he had done for years, the wheezy rattling in his chest quelled by... the Lord Michaelis? _Did it really work?_ He cast a sceptical glance at the lord standing off in the corner, but with marginally less vitriol and suspicion than before. 

Humans were such feeble-brained beings. Just a small exposure to his aura, a temporary alleviation of a cough, and suddenly the sullen priest was gazing at Michaelis with newfound admiration. Perhaps this conquest wouldn’t be the challenge he’d anticipated. No matter. The young man’s blood was tasty enough that even if all the vampire need do was simply track the priest’s mouth-watering scent and offer more of his “remedy”, it would still be a satisfying way to fill his belly, and a nice departure from the blander city dwellers, villagers, and farmers that had been his staple of late.

It seemed as if the ritual was winding down, and Michaelis was eager to show the dark-haired priest, in particular, the other rooms, which were far more impressive than this, and get his opinion on some of the vampire’s dearest companions and accessories. Understandably, Father Finny would no doubt gush at anything tangentially related to the lord, but perhaps because it was not so easily won, he found himself seeking out praise from Father Ciel. A silly thing, he realized, but years to an immortal were but days to other beings, and one could only entertain oneself so long with terrorizing and torturing any human who annoyed or tempted him. No, even if the priest were far more easily swayed than the vampire expected, he suspected Father Ciel would prove to be very interesting indeed.

A firm clapping of hands caught Ciel's attention, and he turned his head to catch Finny ending calmly, "as these holy vapours ascend to the heavens, so shall the evil dissipate from this place. Amen."

"Amen," Ciel echoed, and Finny jerked at his voice, like he had almost forgotten his presence. "Ciel! I'm so glad that the Lord Michaelis could help in rebalancing your humours—you look so much better! You have my eternal gratitude, sire, for treating my friend here. How could a humble priest like me ever repay you for your kindness?" Finny implored the noble, a radiant smile gracing his rosy face.

"I trust that will not be necessary, Finny," Ciel interjected, saccharine sweet as he continued, "We should be getting back to the altar to offer our thanks and prayers for curing me of this ailment, and also for His benevolence in protecting us from harm in our noble endeavour to cleanse the world of evil. Time is of essence; we should return posthaste." Despite the Lord Michaelis's seemingly altruistic gesture, the malevolent atmosphere that settled over the house like a choking shroud and the dolls that still fixed their vacant gaze upon him. He hoped that his words would appeal to the devout believer in Finny so that they could take their leave, and he was not proved wrong.

"Forgive me; I forget myself," Finny said abashedly, his head slightly bowed in apology. "It would certainly not do for us to neglect the Lord's call, and ignore the enormous aid he has rendered upon us in purifying this room and your body of evil. Perhaps, Lord Michaelis, we could return soon to completely cleanse this place? It would not do for us to only do this half-heartedly, so I _must_ insist."

“Oh, _absolutely_ ,” Michaelis crooned with an enormous grin of satisfaction. “I would not want the prayers of thanks to yo—“ He cleared his throat. “ _Our_ lord to wait, as it is clearly due to His divine providence and beneficence that this room no longer carries the heavy miasma of evil it once did, nor do your companion’s humours trouble him so. Likewise, I would not want to tarry in cleansing the remainder of my home, as it would be a great tragedy indeed if one such as I were to be felled by the evil beast of Satan himself.”

It was difficult to stifle a laugh at the cleverness of his response, for he could see immediately the glow in the blond priest’s eyes expanding with every word. “Please, sirrahs, allow me to escort you out. I pray we will be reunited anon.” He let out just a tiny tinge of his aura as he drew closer to Father Ciel, not enough to muddle his mind or affect the other priest much, but sufficient to cause a bloom of pink in his cheeks and a slight tightening in his pants. Smile expanding, the vampire concluded, “In fact, I suspect we will see one another quite soon.”

* * *

Once the priests were on their way, Michaelis skipped down the steps that lead to his wine cellar beneath the mansion. As a superior being, he could see even in pitch darkness, so without the aid of torch or candle, he navigated the familiar path until he found the shelf that served as a hidden door. Although the thought of any of his short-lived human servants accidentally wandering into his dungeon was incredibly amusing, if any of them were to try to free one of the vampire’s meals or report what they found to the human authorities, it could cause him unnecessary grief and inconvenience.

With practised hands, he found the concealed lever that caused the door to creak open, revealing another set of stairs that led deeper into the earth. Following them down in the dark, he grinned before hopping up in the air and shifting easily into his familiar cat form—that of a slightly larger-than-average black Tomcat with red eyes—landing on four feet and scurrying down the rest of the stairs, tail held high. (All powerful old vampires had a familiar form that was as easy to shift into as a human changed their clothing. While the collar restricted him from major shifts, his familiar form was so natural he could slip between it and his “standard” humanoid form without its interference.)

Disappointment filled him as soon as he neared the bottom step, the scent of death almost overwhelming to his enhanced senses. He shifted back to his humanoid form, sighing as he stared down at the body of Thomas’s twin, still shackled to the table where Michaelis had left him when the priests arrived. “I thought you tasted weaker than your brother. He lasted much longer,” he mused as he freed the dead man’s limbs. “Still tasty, though.” Whistling, he grabbed the axe from where it hung on a nearby wall and began dismembering the body, the sounds of the cracking bones and hacking echoing off the walls of the low-ceilinged room filled with torture devices the vampire had collected throughout the millennia. His second favourite hobby after his companions. Humans were at least useful for something other than food, he mused as he finished the job and gathered the bloody pieces into a bag.

He changed back into a cat and spent a few minutes grooming himself, licking and cleaning the blood splatter from his ink-black fur that blended perfectly with the darkness. The blood was no longer hot, but still warm, not quite as delicious this way, but still leaving him satisfied. Once done, he stretched languidly, shifted again and grabbed the bag with the remains, heaving it onto his back so that he could easily carry it out to his pigpen.

Pigs reminded Michaelis of humans. They were simple-minded, stunk, enjoyed lying in their own filth, and ate just about anything—no matter how disgusting. He kept a few of the animals on the back of his property, downwind of the house, to make disposal of his table scraps easier. He did prefer to fuel his kiln with human bodies, as they seemed to burn consistently and at just the right temperature because of their fat. Especially women. But he had no need to fire it today, so instead he was off to the pigs, for he had a particular one in mind, who he’d already fed Thomas to. A large sow with most of her left ear missing and a black spot on the top of her head that almost resembled a cross. He patted her there as he watched her happily chow down on Thomas’s twin.

“Eat well. Tomorrow, Lord Michaelis will visit the poor, grieving farmers to console them and assure them that wherever the twins are, they’re with God.” He sniggered. “Of course, because of noblesse oblige, I feel I must bring them a gift of a fat sow to help them get by until their sons can return to them. Or something equally noble those stupid humans will eagerly devour like you’re gobbling up their second son right now.”

* * *

Ciel would have been a bald-faced liar if he had said that he found it easy to banish the memories of the house and its unnerving resident to the darkest reaches of his mind. Foul dust stalked in the wake of his dreams, taking a depraved delight in transfixing him with their horrors. Ghostly apparitions of dolls, their nakedness a perverse humiliation, floated aimlessly, their wails a plea that went unheard to the cruel God he professed to serve. Slitted red eyes burning with a ravenous hunger—to steal, to kill, to destroy—rested upon his shivering form and he squeezed his eyes shut at the fangs that revealed themselves in a mouth sporting far too many teeth to be remotely human. Blood collected at the sharp points with a paradoxical languor, sliding off onto the ground with a _drip, drip, drip_ that persisted mercilessly. " _Stop_ ," he mouthed to his tormentors, his corporeal form thrashing around in the sweat-soaked covers until a concerned Finny broke the chokehold of his nightmares. The paranoia only grew as the days continued, and Ciel would swear up and down that a pair of glowing red eyes, dancing with amusement, peered at him from the corners before vanishing into the raw twilight.

Even the promise of an imminent feast did nothing to buoy Ciel's dour mood, which had been severely embittered by the exhaustion that bogged down his footsteps. Bruised shadows lurked under his eyes as he dragged himself along the dusty corridors, and with each successive step he grew more tempted to surrender to the siren call of sleep. A soothing balm it would be, but unnamed terrors lay in abject glee for the moment he capitulated to the weakness that was sleep. So he gritted his teeth in protest against the ache that seeped into his bones, ignoring the increasingly worried looks that Finny gave him as the week plodded on. 

"I heard that the cooks decided to use the pig offered by the family a few days ago," Ciel eventually spoke to the uncomfortable silence. He could still remember how the family had just stood there, dominated by a profound sadness and punctuated by a choked sob from the widow. Reports of her husband and his twin's disappearance, one after another, had trickled across the city, so they had been shunned, as people believed that God surely had cursed them for an unforgivable sin. Ciel thought it contemptible: people were now blaming a grieving family for events out of their control? A salient reminder of the callousness of humanity, and yet again an affirmation to his lack of faith in any good God.

" _Father_ ," the widow had whispered, " _pray accept our offer of this fine sow on behalf of my husband and his much-loved brother, to indulge them on their safe passage to our Heavenly Father. We will be ever so grateful. I—_ " her voice broke, and Ciel could see her painful struggle to choke down the lump in her throat, " _—I only hope that Thomas knew I loved him."_

All that Ciel could offer to the widow was meaningless platitudes that she gratefully accepted, knowing full well the less-than-righteous intentions of the head priest standing in the shadows, Father Druitt, who eyed the pig with wanton delight. It would fall prey to the sin of gluttony once more, finding its way on a silver platter in yet another lavish feast that Druitt seemed so fond of. And they still had the audacity to declare themselves sinless men of God—how bitterly ironic. 

It was the same pig that stared back at him with beady eyes at that moment. The wooden tables groaned under the weight of the delicacies they held: laden with bottles of wine, fowl stuffed full of fruits and nuts, and crisp loaves of sourdough. The true star of the show, however, was the pig that sat atop the platter. Slow-cooked in saffroned stock and copious amounts of grain verjuice, then spit-roasted to perfection and garnished with freshly chopped spring onions, it made for a mouthwatering centrepiece to top off the obscenely flagrant display of extravagance.

Yet, Ciel could not bring himself to sup upon the pig, guilt sitting heavy in his chest at robbing a poor peasant family of what could have benefitted them greatly. He instead crept around the tables, silent as a mouse, carefully picking at several foodstuffs to join his plate. Not surprisingly, his meal was several times smaller than other priests, who dug in with unbridled glee. Joining Finny at the table eventually, he nibbled at what little he had. 

Unfortunately, his reluctance to touch the pig had not gone unnoticed. Druitt stood up with an air of great self-importance, pointing at Ciel's plate and declaring, "Why have you not feasted upon this fine sow, which the Lord has so willingly provided to us for our providence? Would you insult His generosity by denying His fruitful bounty, Father Ciel? For shame, Father, for shame." Druitt shot him an accusatory glare, and now Ciel had been unwillingly thrust into the spotlight as everyone turned to look at him.

"I wouldn't dare to do so, Father Druitt. It was merely a slip of the mind that I must repent for," Ciel muttered, walking over to pick out a carved slice of pork. At Druitt's nod of approval, he bit into the meat and chewed it with caution. It was succulent, the juices oozing out in perfect medley with the stock it had been simmered in over long hours. However, he could not bring himself to savour the rich flavour, turning his head away to avoid everyone's eyes upon him. 

It was then the flickering candles upon the candelabras caught the reflection of a dark figure weaving through the shadows, capturing Ciel's full attention. A hard squint revealed it to be a black-furred cat, sitting on the ground to lick at its paw. Muscles rippled through the large frame at the smooth movement, and he was reminded of a hulking predator—pent up and ready to strike at any moment.

If anything, he would have said that the cat had an aura of self-satisfaction about it. The barbed tongue rasped lazily through its fur, like it had fed exceptionally well recently. He was mesmerised by it, fueled by a combination of apprehension from their ability to rob his breath and morbid curiosity. Its eyes had been closed in seeming enjoyment, but now inched open at sensing a human's attention upon it. And he froze.

The same eyes that haunted him in his waking dreams now stared calmly back at him. For a moment it was statuesque—considering with a twitch of an ear the prey that it had cornered into a quandary—before it moved closer, warped delight in its eyes and whiskers quivering in sick anticipation. His breath came in aborted pants, stuttering even shorter as it closed in. 

"Begone, devil! Your evil thievery has no place in these holy grounds! Shoo!"

The words were accompanied by a loud _thwack_ upon soft flesh, and a piercing yowl as the cat ran with its tail between its legs. Finny bore down on it like an avenger, wielding a broom in his hands as he chased it out of the open doors. Fear left Ciel's body as fast as he had been bespelled by it, and his body turned limp in relief. Another undignified yelp came from the cat once more when Finny scored another solid hit on it, its fur standing on end as it hissed and shot away into the encroaching darkness.

* * *

The cell Father Ciel shared with Father Finny was small and humble, sporting little more than two beds, a pair of small desks, and a shared wardrobe. The single window barely admitted the moonlight, leaving the room nearly pitch black once the candles were snuffed for the night.

Both priests were fast asleep, bellies full with food and wine from Father Druitt’s gluttonous feast. Humans were such hypocritical creatures. Preaching about the evils of excess while latching onto it at the first opportunity. Still annoyed with being so ignobly treated in the dining hall earlier, Michaelis, in cat form, sprung up onto the blond priest’s bed. The man’s mouth hung open, a faint snore punctuating each breath. The cat, who blended in almost seamlessly with the darkness, sat on Father Finny’s chest and stared down at him, red eyes gleaming. He was overly tempted to place a paw in that gaping maw and tease the pink tongue, though it might cause the man to startle and wake, and it would not do to be chased from the room again as if he were some common flea-ridden stray. He wondered what the righteous priest would do if the vampire allowed his aura to wash over Finny until his cock grew hard beneath the blanket and his dreams turned sinful. It was tempting, but the last thing he needed was for the tiresome cleric to be afflicted by lust poisoning and follow after Michaelis like a lost puppy, and the vampire _loathed_ dogs. Perhaps, in future, he would manipulate this one, too, but for now, he contented himself with striding around the man’s head and sitting on his face. He stayed there some minutes, laughing internally, pausing to groom himself before deciding he’d gotten enough revenge for now and leaping onto the other priest’s chest, landing heavier than necessary and smirking. (That is, if he could truly do so in this form.) 

The healing effects from the brief feeding the other day had long ago worn off, the vampire’s sensitive ears picking up on the faint wheeze with each breath. The young man slept fitfully, as if tormented by evil dreams. His fear leached from his skin, filling the air with a tantalizing aroma. The vampire had fasted since their meeting the other day, knowing that his next meal would taste all the better because of it. But now that he was so near, the sweet flavour practically on his tongue, he wasn’t sure how much longer he could wait.

He violently kneaded his paws into the young priest’s chest, making sure to dig his claws in deep enough so that the shield of the wool blanket’s padding wouldn’t be enough to protect the slate-haired priest. When that didn’t seem to work, he batted at Ciel’s cheek, amused by all the tiny noises the sleeping human made. Finally, Michaelis resolved to simply wait for the nightmare to rend the priest from slumber, so he sat with his tail curled tightly around his body, staring down at his prey, marvelling at the priest’s beauty.

Certainly, Father Ciel would make for a handsome addition to his collection with his milky complexion somehow unmarred by smallpox scars and his long lashes ghosting over his cheeks. The priest always kept his right eye covered, and it made the vampire incredibly curious, though when asleep, the eye was indistinguishable from the other. Regardless, Michaelis didn’t find it detracted from the man’s attractiveness, but instead added to it.

Full lips tempted the vampire to sample them once he returned to his humanoid form, and a strong jaw combined with a pointed chin made for the juxtaposition of boyish and masculine. Yes, perhaps his most glorious companion yet, Michaelis mused as he watched the young man sleep.

He released some of his aura to wind its way around the priest as he rubbed his black-furred body against the blanket, pawing playfully at the pulse beating in Father Ciel’s neck. This one would be fun to toy with indeed, for Michaelis would serve as both the priest’s damnation and his saviour, the power of his snare tightening with every feeding until the clueless cleric would be compelled to seek the vampire out for relief—and not solely for his respiration. Soon, Ciel would writhe beneath him in pleasured bliss, coaxing the vampire with cries of _more, more, more._

He perched just beneath the young man’s chin, tongue swiping over cat-sized fangs. _I do hope this new plaything lasts_ , he mused. _It has been some centuries since I found true entertainment._ Faces a mere breath apart, his blood-red eyes glowed as if lit from within, like tiny portals to hell inviting the priest into the finality of their fiery grasp.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t forget to root for who you think will torment whom best!
> 
> If you like the story, please support us by leaving kudos, commenting, liking, reblogging and sharing!
> 
> You can follow us on Tumblr @plague-of-insomnia and @stardark-sky !

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t forget to root for who you think will torment whom best!
> 
> If you like the story, please support us by leaving kudos, commenting, liking, reblogging and sharing!
> 
> You can follow us on Tumblr @plague-of-insomnia and @celestial-starblaze.


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